


Aftermath

by FlirtyFroggy



Series: Galma [3]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Other, gen-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtyFroggy/pseuds/FlirtyFroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caspian attempts to recover from his exertions in the tournament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> VoDT fic set during the week spent on Galma before the Pevensies and Eustace join the ship. Beta'd by Blue Little Girl. Originally posted to my LJ November 2009. Fits into my [Keeping Up Appearances](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/keeping_up_appearances) universe, a blend of book-verse &amp; movie-verse.
> 
> A note on age: In the Keeping Up Appearances universe the Pevensies and Caspian are older than in the books, as they are in the movies. In other words, everyone is old enough to be doing the things they are doing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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The sun was beginning to set, the golden light that filtered through the windows turning slowly to rose and amber. Caspian sank into the water, wincing slightly as his shoulders came into contact with the bathtub. The hot water was soothing though, and he closed his eyes and relaxed into the comforting warmth. It was peaceful here, alone with his aches and pains, the noise and bustle of the castle unable to penetrate the thick stone walls. Even the pressure of the bath against his neck and shoulders was beginning to recede, leaving him with nothing but the warmth surrounding him and a vague feeling of — Caspian’s eyes flew open and he shook his head, pushing himself upright as he did so despite the strong objections of his arm. It would not do. Kings of Narnia do not fall asleep and drown themselves in their bathtubs.

He reached for the soap and set about removing the sweat and filth that had accumulated on his body over the course of the day. The door behind him opened and in an instant Caspian had replaced the soap in his hand with the dagger that lay on the small table beside him.

“It is I, your Majesty,” Drinian said, and Caspian put the dagger back on the table and picked up the soap again.

“That is fortunate. I doubt I could fend off an attacker anyway.” He scrubbed viciously at a patch of dirt on his wrist, ignoring the way it made his muscles ache. “Peter would not have been murdered while he bathed,” he added, and then froze as he realised that was the second time in five minutes he had thought about dying here.

“You have not been murdered while you bathed either, Sire. And there are guards at the door and anyway the Duke’s castle is quite —” Drinian broke off. “Are you alright, Sire?”

“I almost fell asleep. Just before you came in. Would I have woken, do you think, if I slipped under the water? Or would I have just… gone?” The soap slipped from Caspian’s hand, landing in the water with a soft ‘plink’ that he barely registered.

“I don’t know, Sire. Perhaps, if someone had been with you —”

“I am not a child to be cosseted, Drinian.”

“I know that, Sire. But you are a king to be protected.”

Caspian snorted. “I believe I’m supposed to do the — What are you doing?”

“I am gathering up your clothes to send to the laundry, Sire.”

“I can see that.”

“Sire —”

“No.” With the lack of space on the Dawn Treader Caspian had no servants on this trip, and over the course of the week they had spent on Galma Drinian seemed to have fallen into the role of valet. Caspian had been torn between enjoying Drinian’s company and feeling that the Captain of the ship really had other, more important, duties to perform. Others may jostle and squabble over who got the right to hand Caspian his clothes in the morning, but it was beneath Drinian, and Caspian was tired of telling him so.

“Sire —”

“I will not have this argument with you again, Drinian. You are not my servant to wait on me hand and foot.” There was a long silence from Drinian, who was quite the master of long silences. Caspian, no stranger to long silences himself and usually quite happy for them to continue, frequently found himself wanting to fill them. This time Drinian beat him to it.

“If you insist, Sire. I will take my leave.”

“Please don’t. I said I did not want your servitude; I did not say I didn’t want your company.”

Drinian smiled. “Thank you, Sire.”

“And put my clothes down.”

“I have already gathered them, Sire. I may as well put them in the next room for the maid to collect.”

Caspian rolled his eyes, but he knew when to pick his battles. “Very well, very well,” he said. He waved Drinian towards the door and set about retrieving the soap, a task that proved almost as difficult as the day’s tournament bouts. By the time Drinian returned he had succeeded and was once again scrubbing at his arms and chest.

“Where does the dirt come from, Drinian? How does it get through two layers of clothing and my armour?”

“I suppose with all the times you landed on the ground, Sire, some dirt was bound to get in.”

“Thank you, Drinian,” Caspian said with a glare.

“You’re welcome, Sire.” Drinian sat on the chair in the corner of the room with a grin. “Your clothes are laid out for tonight.” Caspian opened his mouth to launch into another rebuke but was headed off. “Not by me. They were already there when I went through. One of the Duke’s servants must have done it.”

“I see. The Duke is now choosing my wardrobe for me as well as my bride, is he?”

“I believe the Duke is simply trying to be as helpful as possible, your Majesty.”

“The Duke is taking liberties,” Caspian said, biting his lip as he leaned forward to wash his legs. His back burned as the muscles stretched and pulled.

“Well, he will soon realise the error of his ways when you leave without proposing to his daughter.” Drinian paused, looking anxious. “You are not, I take it, planning on marrying the girl?”

Caspian barked a laugh. “She is an excellent woman, and one I could greatly admire. But I could not love her and nor could Narnia.” He strained forward, running the soap over his calves with difficulty. “Narnians have certain expectations. Did you ever see Queen Susan?”

“No, Sire. The ancient Kings and Queens left before I returned to court.”

“Ah, of course. She was very beautiful. And elegant and charming and brave. Edmund once told me that a prince of Calormen went to war for her hand. And I understand Queen Lucy was much sought-after in her prime, though she was very young when I knew her.” He paused, breathing hard. The pain in his back and shoulders was getting worse as he struggled to wash his ankles. “No. It may be advantageous to consolidate Galma’s friendship and loyalty, but Narnia could never love Althea. And I need Narnia’s love, Drinian.” He sat back with a frustrated sigh. It was no good. He could not reach his feet.

“Is everything alright, Sire?”

“I can’t —” Caspian gestured helplessly at his feet.

Drinian hesitated before speaking. “Do you want me to call for help, Sire?”

“Yes, Drinian that’s precisely what I want,” Caspian snapped. “By all means, announce to the entire castle that the King of Narnia is so feeble he cannot clean himself. Perhaps you would like to gather everyone around to watch the spectacle.” Drinian looked down and said nothing. Caspian closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he had counted to ten he opened his eyes again. Drinian hadn’t moved. “Forgive me. I am short-tempered, I know. Would you —” Caspian swallowed his pride with difficulty. “Would you mind?” He held the soap out to Drinian, who stared at it for a long time as if it were a snake that might bite him. He rose slowly from his seat and crossed the space between them in two short steps. He took the soap from Caspian’s hand and knelt beside the bath, transferring his gaze to Caspian’s feet, where it remained.

Caspian squirmed as Drinian grasped his foot. He could only see part of Drinian’s face but he could tell he was smiling.

“You are ticklish, Sire? I did not know that.”

“Well, why would you?” Caspian said. “I don’t exactly go around announcing it.” The last word was spoken on a shriek as Drinian’s finger ran between his toes. “Drinian! Stop it,” he said, laughing.

“I am sorry, Sire, but it is not my doing.” Drinian put down the foot he was holding and reached for the other, intently focussed on his task; Caspian braced himself for further onslaught.

“Do you think — stop that, you’re doing it on purpose — do you think there’s any way to get out of — Drinian, I said stop it — to get out of tonight?” Caspian fell back against the tub laughing as Drinian finally ceased the torture of his foot.

“We could say you are ill,” Drinian said, standing up and passing the soap back to Caspian. His gaze was still fixed on the soap. Caspian reached out to take it and then stopped as a new realisation hit him.

“Um, I can’t reach my back. Could you…?” A new tension spread through Drinian as Caspian spoke; Caspian could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened and the muscles along his arm went taut. His fingers clenched around the soap.

“Of course, Sire.” His voice was as tight as the rest of him. Avoiding Caspian’s eye, he moved slowly around the bath.

“If you would rather not, that’s fine,” Caspian said, remembering belatedly that Drinian had strange ideas about propriety; he would happily tease Caspian in a way most people would never dream of doing to their sovereign, but he balked at physical contact that others didn’t think twice about. Caspian didn’t understand it, but he had no wish to make Drinian uncomfortable.

“It’s alright, Sire. I don’t mind.” Drinian was behind him now so Caspian could not see him, but his voice had returned to normal. Caspian leaned forward a little further to allow him access.

“We cannot say I am ill,” Caspian said, returning to their earlier conversation with relief as Drinian began to wash his shoulders. His palms were rough and calloused but his touch was gentle as he ran the soap over his skin. “It would seem as though I cannot stand up to the rigours of the tournament.” He gritted his teeth as Drinian passed over a particularly sensitive area high on his ribs but managed not to cry out. “It may be true but no-one except us needs to know that, do they?”

“No, Sire,” Drinian said and then, “Sorry,” as Caspian let out a hiss he was unable to prevent; he was almost certain now he had broken a rib. “We should probably get a doctor to look at that.”

“Probably.”

“I do not think the people will think less of you for being injured, Sire. If anything, they will be even more impressed by your bravery. And, for what it’s worth, I think you have stood up to the rigours of the tournament extremely well, Sire.”

Caspian wished he could see Drinian’s face; without visual clues he had no idea if Drinian was teasing him again. He reminded him of Edmund in that way, though in few others. Caspian grimaced. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. There was never really a time to be thinking about Edmund but he did anyway, despite his best efforts not to. If he were honest with himself, though, they were not really his best efforts. But still, thinking about Edmund while he was naked in the bath with Drinian running his hands over his lower back was… not wise. He wrenched his thoughts back to less dangerous topics.

“What did you think of Sir Cleef’s technique?”

“Technically he was very good, Sire.” Drinian finished soaping Caspian’s back and began to pour water over it, rubbing carefully to get all the soap off.

“That much was obvious from the amount of time I spent on the floor.” Caspian shivered as Drinian’s rough hands swept across his skin.

“I meant he was very good technically but he lacked something. He fought very well when he was winning, but less so when he fell behind,” Drinian said, standing up and handing the soap back to Caspian. “All done, Sire,” he said walking back to the chair and sitting down. He still wouldn’t look Caspian in the eye, but Caspian had more pressing concerns. He couldn’t sit here all night, however much he might want to. Besides, the water was turning chill.

Bracing his arms against the edges of the bath, he pulled himself up. He managed to raise himself about four inches before he fell back with a cry, splashing water over the sides and onto the floor. Drinian leapt from his seat, froze momentarily in the middle of the room, and then knelt beside the bath. “Are you alright, Sire?”

“Fine, Drinian, fine,” Caspian said breathlessly. “I just — I may need some help. I am sorry, my friend. I’m afraid I must ask for your assistance again.”

“There is no need to apologise, Sire,” Drinian said, slipping an arm around Caspian’s shoulders. “Hold onto me.”

It was clumsy and undignified, and Caspian wondered if he would ever be able to look Drinian in the eye again, but eventually he was standing upright. He was still in the bath but he was making progress. Another two slow and careful minutes and he was standing shivering on the floor, his muscles feeling like they were going to burn through his skin. The bath, he reflected, had been more trouble than it was worth. At least he was clean.

A robe was thrown around his shoulders, warm and comforting from being hung in front of the fire. Drinian led him out of the room and towards the bed, both of them careful not to slip on the soaking wet floor. “Sire, maybe you should lie down for a moment.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Caspian said faintly. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and, after a moment’s struggle, managed to thread his arms through the sleeves of the robe and tie the belt. He lay down slowly, careful not to jar his back, and was relieved to discover the bed was more forgiving than the hard base of the bathtub. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of Drinian moving around the room, cleaning up the mess Caspian had left. He was too exhausted to tell Drinian yet again that he was his captain and his friend, not his valet. When he heard him go through to the outer room and ask one of the guards at the door to fetch a doctor he sat upright again.

“I do not need a doctor.”

“We agreed you did, Sire.”

Caspian thought back over their conversation. “Oh yes. The people of Galma are going to be overwhelmed by my fortitude and courage. I had forgotten.”

“Narnians are fond of dancing, Sire —”

“I had noticed.”

“— And Galma is as close to being part of Narnia as makes no odds. If you can fight with honour and dance with a smile, they will think well enough of you.”

“So, I must resign myself to another night of frolics and festivities then?”

“I’m afraid so, Sire,” Drinian said, a grin lurking in his eyes once again.

“Damn,” said Caspian and flopped back on the bed with a sigh.


End file.
